


Thrust my Luck

by FroggyBangBang



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, He just has the worst luck, Martin is trying really hard to be self-dependant, badluck, martin!whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroggyBangBang/pseuds/FroggyBangBang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin gets home after a week of flight and things go from bad to worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got time to fix most of the typos/errors (yay!) if you stop any I left, feel free to let me know! ^-^

"See you on Wednesday!" Douglas said just before climbing inside his Lexus. 

Martin was standing outside of Carolyn's house, waving goodbye to Arthur. Carolyn still didn't pay for the pick-up taxi and he was dreading the walk back to his flat. After a week flying around the world, all he wanted was a hot bath and a comfortable bed. Of course he'd have to settle to a, hopefully, hot shower and his old mattress but he still wished he could have taken his van to cover the distance between his and Carolyn's home. As things were, he barely had enough money to keep the van running for the jobs he had lined up over the next three days.

As he slowly walked home, the rain the sky was threatening to let go begun. First in very small, cold, droplets but quickly becoming a downpour. Martin stuck his hands inside his jacket cursing himself on choosing to wear his spring coat. It was in better shape than his warmer coat and the weather had been clement for the season a week ago, but it was now so cold it was a wonder the rain wasn't snow. It was, after all, the beginning of January.

Martin finally reached his flat and began to search for his keys. _I'm sure I left them in my coat pocket... were are they?!_ The search became more frantic, looking in every pocket. _Please, please, pleeaase! Oh please don't have fallen out..._ Out of pocket options he desperately opened his overnight bag, hoping against hope that he put them there and he didn't remember. _HAH!_ He had them. _When did I put them in my bag? I must be more tired then I thought..._ He unlock the door with a shivering hand and turned the handle.

But the door refuse to budge.

With a frown, Martin tried again, turning the handle rapidly and pulling with all his strength. When nothing happened, Martin tried again. And again. Each time pulling harder on the useless doorhandle. _Why me? Why now? Please just open!_ He had known for a while the handle was reaching the end of its lifespan because it kept blocking and gave him, more often than not, a hard time when he opened his door for the last few months now. But the timing with which it decided to finally die was so bad, one had to wonder if it didn't do it on purpose. If it had broken in four days, _FOUR DAYS_ , the students would have begun to return from their Christmas holidays and someone would probably have been there to open from the inside. Thrust his luck to have it break on a year were every student went back home and just a few days before the first one returned.

Not letting go of the handle, Martin put his forehead on the door, heaving a shuddering sigh. He felt miserably cold and his boots, that needed to be changed last year, were taking on water and his coat was far from being made to resist more then a few minutes to the flood currently ongoing. _Okay, think. Just think. I could call the landlord! He'd have to come even if it's getting late already, right? Right. Calling the landlord._ It was a luck he remembered the number. 

Pushing himself off the door and stooping to pick up his bag, Martin begun his quest for a phone booth. _This is why I need a cellphone. They_ are _ratter expensive but it would be so much help whenever something like this happens!_ It was only wishful thinking of course: he'd never be able to pay for one.

When he reach the closest booth, thankful for the rain protection, he dig up the £0.60 needed to make the call and picked up the handset. Just as he was about to put his money in however, he remembered something devastating: his landlord had mentioned going away to Italy for the new year. He was due back... _in four days, just in time for the students... Of course. OF COURSE!_ Damning his luck he put the handset back and looked for a locksmith still open at this hour.

He had four choices, but only enough money to call one. Biting his lips, he chose one at random, hoping it was the cheapest.

“National Locksmiths, how may I be of service?”  
“H-hello, yes, erm... I need- well, maybe you can't help for, for this, but, see... I'm locked outside of my flat, only the lock works fine! It's just the handle that-that doesn't... work....?”  
“Okay. First since I think you might want the service right away, I need to advise you that we'll be charging for emergency services, which has a start fee of £65. If you say it's a door repair you need, and it sounds like it, our emergency services start at £55 an hour for a minimum of two hours.”

Martin kept silent, screwing his eye shut. _I can't pay that. I'm sure the landlord would repay me but if I pay this I won't even have enough money to fill the van's tank for my job tomorrow..._

“... Sir?” he heard coming from the phone he had lowered a bit.  
“S-sorry. I-I'll cal y-you back!” And he hung up.

*** 

 

Martin drew a shuddering breath. His head hung low, his eye were still closed and he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. _Okay. What now?_

He needed to sleep. He already had some trouble keeping on his feet and the cold from the rain was adding to the exhaustion of the quick succession of shady motels and long flights he was already feeling earlier. Trembling, he pushed the phone booth door open and returned to the freezing rain, his feet making him move toward his flat once more. About halfway there, seemingly to twist the knife a bit, a car passed at high speed on the big puddle of water that had accumulated on the side of the street, achieving a magnificent wave that crashed right on Martin, soaking him more when he though he couldn't get any wetter.

He stopped a bit, frozen by the sudden spray, and then resumed his walk, sniffling. He wanted to cry. It's not like anyone was there to see the tears, anyway. _Not like anyone would care_ , he thought. Putting his hands under his armpits and hunching under the... _Hail? Oh great! I need that._ He wasn't able to stop the small whining noise coming out of his throat. He stopped in front of his door, shivering so much he hoped his spine wouldn't break, and looked around, lost, unsure where to go. He bit his lower lip to keep his teeth from shattering and decided to lock the door. It was useless, he knew, because the stupid door wouldn't open anyway, but at least this way he was doing something that seemed meaningful even if it was just for a moment.

With the door now locked, he turned and looked at the street. His building didn't even have a small awning to protect him from the elements. A strong burst of winter wind made him turn his head to the left in a vain attempt to protect himself. That's when he spotted his van.

Sobbing with relief he hurried to the back door. Unlocking it proved more difficult than it should have been with his hand seeming to have a life of their own, jutting from left to right on its own accord. Finally, using both hands (one to stabilize the other a bit) he succeeded and jumped inside his van, rapidly closing the door behind him and dropped his bag.

He took the heavy duty sheets he used to protect his customer's furniture as cushion and wrapped one around himself for warmth. The sheets were old and had been sitting in the cold van for an eternity, but it was still better then being outside in the rain. He dig his travelling alarm from his wet travelling bag and set it to go off two hours before his first job. He then took a t-shirt he used to sleep this week that wasn't too dirty and a pair of jeans and led them down to dry a bit. It was a luck he had clothes other than his uniform with him. Otherwise he would have had to work with it tomorrow. He reluctantly removed his coat and his uniform, shivering more then ever, and led those down to dry too. 

Martin rolled himself in the sheets and tried to go to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humm... I guess if you're squeamish, you might want to not read this chapter too closely? My brain is weird. Sorry!

The next morning comes too soon and Martin feels like he's hungover, despite not having drunk a single drop of alcohol in months. He slam his hand on his alarm to stop the screeching sound and quickly retreats to the, if humid, at least lukewarm sheets. Letting out a groan, he remembers what he has to do today. Five deliveries. He's usually careful no to over schedule his days, but with a week-long trip behind him and another one looming after the few days off, he really needs the cash.

He sits, keeping the sheets tightly wound around him, and looks at the clothes he laid out last night. They still looked wet. _I guess it doesn't matter since it's still raining anyway._ Resolutely he takes a deep breath and steps out of the sheets to get dressed.

*** 

_Why would someone need so many bloody bookshelves?!_ It's the third shipment on his fourth appointment. Martin's still soaking wet, his boots makes a sluggish sound with every step he takes, he can't really feel the tip of his fingers and his headache never went away. On the bright side he's not too cold any more; The first customer had him carry what felt like the biggest collection of rocks, all packed nicely in neat little boxes, and treated Martin like most people do in this job (like a nice little robot. A hired slave for the day). The second one needed only to transport a big wardrobe from her flat (on the top floor of a building that was clearly built before the invention of the elevator) to the second floor of her new home (that had a string of neck-breaking stair going from the car park to the front door) and claimed to have a bad hip so he “couldn't help, very sorry dear. I wouldn't want to make it worst.” To help matters she kept on and on about every little aspect of her life that wasn't going right for her. The third booking was by a company, wanting to move three of their biggest desks to a new office, and now his fourth customer needed all of his bookshelves and books (along with the rest of his stuff) moved from his boyfriend's flat to his new dingy one and he seemed to be too absorb in yelling at is ex to realise he would get away from his sight much faster if he helped Martin.

When he finally put the last box inside the small flat and got paid, Martin returned to his van, blowing on his fingers to try and get some feeling back. The rain was now annoyingly looking like it wished it could be snow and Martin hoped that it wouldn't because he was tired of the cold and the wet and his tires weren't in top shape and he really didn't know if they could handle snow. Snow that stayed on the ground, anyway, because this was pretty much snow already. Just... sloshy-er. 

A quick look at the dashboard clock told him he had an hour before his next appointment and his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday before leaving Paris. He stopped at a petrol station to fill the van up, freezing under the cold wind. He went inside to pay and spotted some Pot Noodles. He decides he could spare the money and bought one chicken and one beef flavoured. He paid, used the hot water in the tea machine to fill up the two cups and took a plastic fork from the little box and hurried back to his van. He parked in the driveway and enjoyed his hot meal.

He arrived to his fourth appointment feeling the beginning of a fever forming in the back of his brain. The lady who opened the door ushered him him rapidly, so her cats wouldn't escape. 

“Oh my dear, look at you! All wet and shivering. Get your boots off before putting water everywhere, yes? Would you like a cuppa? Oh! What am I saying! A young hard working man like you mustn't have the time to stop for tea at every place he stops, do forgive me!”

“O-oh... A-actually, I wouldn't mind a-at all if... if the offer st-still st-stand of course! Y-you're my l-last ap-pp-ppointment of the day.”

“Well, then! A nice cup of tea it shall be! I'm going to dig some towels, to dry you a bit too, if you want. Your teeth are chattering so much I almost can't understand you, you poor thing. Here: sit down and I'll take care of the tea!”

The towel she gave him smelled of cabbage, but it was big, warm and fluffy which was just what he needed. The tea was barely drinkable, but it was tea and it was hot. And he forced himself not to inhale the stale biscuit she gave him, taking his time to look like he hadn't just eat two instant noodles cups in the last 24 hours. The house smelled like there was too many cats living here, but it wasn't his job to judge people on their living habits and at least the house was warm and dry.

As soon as his tea was finished, the old lady stopped babbling about her cats and went all business-like. 

“So the reason I got you here was to transport the small freezer I have downstairs and bring it to my daughter. She moved from London last week in her new house and could need a freezer more that I could. There's just this small mater, see? I can't climb down the stairs easily any more and I'm afraid my freezer is not completely empty. I'm going to give you an extra, of course, for emptying it before bringing it to my daughter?”

“Of course Mrs. Duwn, I'd be happy to empty it before taking the freezer.”

“You're a peach! Here's some bags and you can just put them in front of the flat; the garbage are tomorrow!”

Martin took the box of garbage back she handed him and went downstairs. 

His eyes went big from shock at the sight of the “small freezer”. It was one of those big white freezer that could easily hide ten adult bodies. His shock only got bigger when he opened the lid. Mrs. Duwn, in her foresight, had unplugged the freezer already and the smell coming from the twenty or so cat corpses that laid at the bottom of the freezer was putrid.

It took everything Martin had not to give up is meagre lunch. Putting his head as far from the freezer as he could, eyes closed, he took one big breath and went to work, trying not to think too much about what he was doing. With one bag in place of a glove and another at the ready, he chucked fluffy and mimikin and whiskers and company rapidly to their final resting place.

He felt sick when he trew the bags on the side of the road, wondering if it was legal (probably not) and if the smell of rotting flesh would attract the wildlife of the suburb to feast of the content of the bag (probably). He went back inside and began the hard work of pushing a big freezer up the basement's stairs after a really long day. When the freezer was finally in his van, he left as quickly as he would allow himself on the slippery roads.

Martin wrung the bell at the address Mrs. Duwn gave him and was answered, moments later, by a woman in her early thirties looking all the world like she was heading out to a top-of-the-class party. She seemed confused by his being on her front porch. _Has she forgot?_

“Hello, I'm Martin from Icarus Removal...”

“...yes?”

“Mrs. Duwn has sent me here to deliver her freezer?” _mercifully cat-less now_ “She did told you it was today?”

“Urgh! I swear! No, sir, Mother did not bother to tell me it was today. The reason would be that she tried to give me that awful thing ever since I move here. Five years ago.”

“Oh...”

“Yes, 'Oh'. I do not want that thing in my house! I don't care what you do with it: return it, dump it, keep it! I could care less.”

“Yes... I... I-I was under the... impression that y-you would.... erm... payforthedelivery?”

“Sorry?”

“See, she... she kind of implied you kn-knew about this a-and she said you'd be the one paying for the delivery and I took the thing out of her basement after I EMPTIED IT OF ALL THE _DEAD CATS_ and... and... and...” Oh God. He was beginning to cry now. Perfect. Pathetic. But he was just about his wits end and this whole thing with the cats and he couldn't believe he wasn't going to get paid! 

“Wait here”

She closed the door in his face. Martin let out the sob he was trying to hold back earlier. This wouldn't happen to anybody else. _Douglas would never have to do this! Of course he would probably find a way to make more money with the bloody freezer then the delivery was worth..._ The slushy rain kept beating down on him, mixing with his tears. He was just about to tell himself that Mrs. Duwn's daughter wasn't going to come back to the door and that he should go and try and sell the freezer for a small profit, when the door opened again.

“I've called mother. She'll be paying you when you return the freezer to its original place in her basement. ...I'm really sorry about the cats.”

And she closed the door again.

Just like that.

_Her life must be so easy..._

After returning the freezer to Mrs. Duwn's basement and getting paid for the trip to and from her daughter's place and refusing her offer of a big tip if he would be “Nice enough to put them back in, dear.” pointing to the bags of dead cats. With a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold, Martin left, swearing to never come back to this address.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin parked his van in its usual place. He got out and tried the handle again, just to see if it had magically repair itself during the day. It hadn't. Counting his money he realised that, even with Mrs. Duwn's extra for emptying the freezer. _Don't think about that!_ He had enough money to pay the rent, but not enough to unlock the door and pay the rent. He called his landlord from the phone booth and left a message on his answering machine to explain the situation and hoped he would be home by tomorrow night.

He returned to his van to escape the snow and left the motor running a bit to stay warm. He had enough money to put a bit more petrol in, at least. He got out of his drenched clothes and tried to wring them as best he could before settling in his sheets. After half an hour he cut the motor and fell into an uneasy sleep, coughing badly. 

*** 

He woke with a start on Monday morning. He felt the beginning of a flu and the headache was still there. _What am I forgetting?_ He looked around and his eyes fell on his watch. _Nine? Shitshitshitshitshit!_ He hurried to put back the still-soaked clothes on and to go to today's first appointment. He was lucky to get there only 3 minutes late. 

He did the job, an easy transport of pillows, duvet, sheet and curtains from one warehouse to another, and stopped to put more petrol in his van. The job had been easy, but fast. It only got him £20 and he was so hungry he spent what little he had left after the fill on a loaf of bread and some pre-made canned spaghetti that tasted horrible but where more filling then Pot Noodles.

His second and last job of the day wasn't so easy. It took him all the rest of the day to load his van at one house to unload it in a brand new house half an hour away. The clients looked at him with open disgust when he arrive. Martin couldn't blame them, really. The snow had stopped during the night and it was only a small drizzle that fell from the sky now, but his clothes where soaking wet, his boots still made a wet sound every step he took, he was shivering from the cold and the fever he was sure he had, he was paler than usual and he kept sniffling and sneezing.

The customer paid him with a cheque and sent him on his way as fast as they could. The bank was closed at this time of the day so he put the cheque in his wallet and returned home.

The rain started to fall down hard and fast again

*** 

The landlord had come when Martin got home. _He came back early._ That was a nice surprise! He let himself in and saw the note on his door.

_“Got your message when I got home earlier today. I fixed the handle. Sorry for the trouble it_  
cost you. 'M'afraid there was bad weather during my stay in Italy: the roof got banged-up  
by the winds and a big branch destroyed one of your windows. The hot water is also out due  
to the same tree falling on a line and cutting the electricity. I'll be there on Friday to fix it.” 

Frowning, Martin warily opened the door to his attic room. The entire house was cold, but his room was freezing. There was water and glass everywhere. Especially on his bed, situated just under the window. Water was dripping from almost everywhere on the ceiling. His landlord had put buckets here and there and they were all overflowing already. And his computer, while old and prone to bug, would surely never start again judging by the pool of water around it. Most of his books were soaked, too.

Martin's chest contracted. He fell on the floor and let go of all resemblance of dignity. He just cried at the injustice of it all. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Martin lied on the floor, not sure what to do. Unsure if he wanted to do anything. But the cold won over the inertia and he knelled, trying to figure out his next move. He decided to take some dry clothes he found and to put them in a bin liner. He couldn't make any diner without electricity so he just ate two slice of bread with nothing on it, swallowing them down with the help of a glass of water. Then he decided to go sleep in his van again.

Martin felt miserable when he stripped of his clothes. He couldn't stop shivering, even with the heating on full blast, so he set up his alarm and cut off the motor. He snuggled as best he could in his sheets. All of his body hurts from the work he did in the last two days and from all the shivering. Sleeping on the floor of the van didn't help matters much. He wished he could be in front of his simulator right now. A make-shift flight would bring his spirit up a bit at least. But that thought only brought vision of his computer sitting in a puddle of water and he felt the silent tears fall out of his eyes again. He cried himself to sleep.

*** 

He felt horrible the next day. His throat hurt, every movement seemed like a punishment. Just putting the dry clothes brought sobs. He sat behind the wheel and took sometime to regain his breath. The shivering seemed like it would never end. So did the blasted rain. He put the eat on full, not able to care about the petrol it would cost him, and set to his appointment. He had only one job today and it was a fairly short one to transport three paintings from one gallery to their new owner.

Upon arriving to the gallery, he knew immediately something wasn't right. The perplex look of the gallery owner, only slightly stronger than the looks of horror he express when he first saw a very sick-looking Martin, wasn't supposed to be there. 

“Icarus Removal” said Martin, his voice croaking horribly. Martin winced at the pain it provoked and decided against trying to swallow. 

“Yes... I was afraid you might be. Didn't you get my message? I called on Monday morning to tell you: The sell was annulled. I'm afraid I don't need your services today.”

“Oh...”  
“ And... If I may... You look like you should go back to bed to nurse that cold.”

“Yes... I'll...” Martin bit back the sob and the tears threatening to come out. _Because my throat hurts. I'm NOT crying. It's just the pain._ “I lost the electricity after the storm... That's why I didn't get... hm... Sorry. Have a nice day.”

Martin left, is sore muscle battling with his sore ego for speed. The gallery's owner looked like he wanted to say something when Martin climbed in his van, but he either changed his mind or Martin couldn't hear him under the sound of the van's motor.

*** 

He parked his van on the side of the road. The tears wouldn't allow him to see the road clearly enough to know where he was going. He put his head on the steering wheel and cried. He was aware that he was crying a lot, _but_ , he thought, _I think I'm justified, aren't I?_  
He calmed a bit with the thought of being on GERTI tomorrow. And it will be dry and warm. And FOOD. God, he was so hungry.

Trying to push aside visions of food, he took a shaking breath and straighten. Just one last night and everything would be all right: He was going away for a bit more then a week which meant a week of having a roof on top of his head, a week of being dry, a week of eating something else then Pot noodles and plain bread and a week of _flying_.

With that cherry thought in mind he turned the key in the ignition to start the rest of the trip home.

That was counting against his luck, however. _I'm such in IDIOT!_ He had forgotten he meant to fill the gas thank up after picking the paintings.


	4. Chapter 4

Martin put his van in neutral and carefully got out to push it even more out of the way. The pain on his reluctant muscle was excruciating. He fished a pen and a blank sheet of paper, wrote _“Gone to get petrol”_ and put the hand-made sign in the window, hoping it would stop the police from giving him a ticket for illegal parking, but doubting it, knowing his luck.

He lock his van up and looked up and down the road. _Which way should I go?_ He thought wearily. He was so tired he could almost fall asleep on the spot and everyone of his muscle, even those he didn't knew existed, cried for attention when he did so much as draw a breath. After what seemed like a year or two, he decided to go to his right and begun the slow, long trek, under the endless freezing rain towards a, hopefully existent, petrol station.

He stared blindly in front of his feet, huddled on himself, trying not to cough too much to help his throat. He looked up to look at his surroundings a bit, just enough to know he wasn't passing in front of a petrol station without seeing it, and he noticed the place felt familiar. He stopped, frowning, his brain a bit too foggy to really think. He shrugged the feeling off and continued in his miserable quest.

It's only when his feet brought him in front of a door that he realised why the neighbourhood felt so familiar. He was standing in front of Douglas' door. He blinked with surprised. He'd only been here a couple of times, back when Carolyn still paid for the pick-up taxi. The taxi always came to take him first, then Douglas. And Martin was pretty sure this was the right door.

He hesitated, worrying his lower lip. Should he knock? Douglas could, maybe, give him a ride to a petrol station and back to his van.

Or he could make one look at Martin, and die from laughter.

Douglas probably wasn't living here any more: didn't he say his wife had left him? What if he knocked and Helena answered? _Well, she looked nice... she'd probably be even more likely to give me a hand. Awful blow to Douglas, but I am kind of desperate..._ and he had already knocked. _Well. We'll see, won't we? … This is stupid. There's probably no one home! Not at this hour._

He turned to leave after a few more seconds of nobody answering. He realised how hopeful he had been when he felt the despair grip him. With a sigh he resumed his search for a station.

He hadn't made it to the curb when he heard the door open. He froze, not daring believing his hear, and turned slowly. 

He was staring right back at a very annoyed-looking Douglas. _This was a bad Idea!_

“Martin?!”

“Douglas, I... I'm...” he was cut out of his feeble try at an explanation as to why he was standing in front of Douglas' house, soaking wet and shivering, by a fit of cough so violent he was seeing stars when it was over.

The annoyed look in Douglas' eyes switched to one of concern. 

“Martin... Are you all right?”

“I... yes. Ju-just a bit of cough.”

An eyebrow shot up towards Douglas' hair line.

“Bit of a cough? Sounded more like a cat coughing up the mother of all hair balls! You're soaking wet and shivering uncontrollably, Martin. Come inside before dying on my front steps, would you?”

Martin hesitated a bit, but the warmth emitting from the house was too tempting. He ducked inside with a small “Thank you” before falling pray of another bouts of cough.

“What the hell happened to you? Come here, sit!” Douglas said, leading Martin in the kitchen and pointing to a chair. Martin just did as he was told, not really able to think through the fog in his mind. Douglas put his hand on Martin's forehead. _Gosh that feels so good..._ He wasn't quite able to retain a small whimper when the hand disappeared.

“You're burning up! How long have you been outside like this?”

Martin muttered something. He wasn't even sure what he meant to say. He wasn't sure he could remember the answer. _What was the question?_

A small hissing noise came from Douglas' direction and with a rough “Stay here!” he left.

Martin had no idea how much time had passed but when Douglas came back he seemed loaded with stuff. First he put a big towel and a big fluffy gown on the table. It looked so comfortable that Martin couldn't look away. It's only when Douglas snapped his finger that Martin reacted. He blinked a few time and looked at Douglas interrogatively. The look was possibly off what with the shivering and the coughing, but Douglas began to speak.

“Take this” He handed two elongated pills to Martin and a glass of water. Martin downed them. “Now remove that coat. Have you been outside in this weather with a coat this thin? Honestly, Martin, it's like you have a dead wish or something.” Martin opened his mouth to protest, or explain, or... assert? He didn't remember, but it didn't matter because Douglas cut him up. “I don't want to hear it! Take this towel and this nightgown” he said, thrusting the items in Martin's trembling arms, “The bathroom is the first door on the left” he pointed to the corridor separating the kitchen and the living room “Take a hot shower and change into these. Leave your clothes outside the door. I'll put them in the dryer.”

Martin blinked and looked at the corridor. A hot shower would be very nice indeed. He got up slowly, or as fast as his muscles let him anyway, and shuffled towards the bathroom. He took a break from walking about half way there. He was exhausted and needed to breath a bit. He leaned on the wall and another bouts of cough took over him. When he recovered he dutifully ignored Douglas' concerned gaze and slipped in the bathroom. It took all he had to peel off the clothes and start the shower. He left the clothes on the other side of the door, like Douglas said, and stepped carefully inside the shower. His legs were trembling so much he decided to just sit on the floor and let the hot water wash over him. It worked wonders on his shivering. The relief he felt when his muscles stopped their unstoppable quivering was almost enough to make him faint. He leaned on the wall and enjoyed the warmth.

*** 

When he finally got out of the shower (not so much because he wanted to but because the hot water was slowly running out), his skin was a bring pink and he felt a lot better. Well, his head still felt stuffy, his throat still hurt, and he was so very tired, but his muscles seemed to be made of jelly, which was a nice change.

He got out of the bathroom, wearing the fluffy too-big brown gown, and padded towards the kitchen. He saw Douglas waiting for him with a cup of tea at the table. _Oooh! Tea!_ Real _tea!_

He sat and sipped at the hot beverage gratefully, closing his eyes to savour the taste better. _This is so much better the Mrs. Duwn's!_ When he opened his eyes, Douglas was staring at his soul.

“All right. Talk!”

Martin bit his lips when he felt the tears come up. But he couldn't stop them. All dignity was left aside with the relief of someone to talk to, of having dry clothes on him and in being a warm house that did not smell of cabbages and cat pee. He let the tears fall down and explain everything in a rush. Gesticulating widely at some point, being drawn in at others. Douglas let him speak without a word, listening to everything. When Martin was done, he took big, shuddering breaths to calm himself and looked down at his tea, shame catching up slowly on him. Waiting for the cracks at his expense that were surely about to come.

“And you didn't think to come here on Sunday because.... ?” was all Douglas said.

Martin looked up with a gasp. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What was there to say? **Why** hadn't he come here sooner? _Because I was too damn proud. And afraid._

Douglas' expression soften.

“Finish your tea. I'm going to prepare the spare bedroom. Have you eaten anything since Sunday in Paris?” 

“Well... y-yes...”

“hmmm?”

“... pot noodles, and bread, mainly” he said in a small voice.

“Right. So the answer is 'no'. How do you feel about cannelloni?”


	5. Epilogue

Wednesday, at about eleven, Douglas brought Martin to his van. Martin felt a lot better. He had slept about 15 hours and it had help him greatly with his flu, he had eaten whatever Douglas presented him and he had a keg full of petrol to fill his van until the next petrol station. He followed Douglas to the station, filled his van properly, and they left in direction of Martin's flat.

Martin parked his van in his usual spot while Douglas waited for him in his Lexus. They went back to Douglas' to wash the clothes Martin had left in his overnight back in the back of his van. Martin took great care of ironing properly his uniform and they left for Carolyn's house at fifteen hundred.

Carolyn raised an eyebrow at the sight of both her pilots arriving at the same time (and on time) but didn't mention a pip. They took off to prepare for the flight. Martin felt happy. Douglas had made him promise that if anything, _anything_ , was wrong with his flat when they got home Martin would call Douglas to stay in the guest bedroom. “The house is awfully big and empty now, anyway.” Douglas had added, to make things look like it wasn't a big deal. It was nice to know you had a friend.


End file.
